ity, and that she had some commissions for
him to perform. She had made up her mind to discountenance the heathen
habits into which everybody on the ranch had fallen. She had done all
she could to keep the men from going to bull-fights on the Sabbath, and
had offered to read the morning service, if the men would attend; and
now she was going to celebrate Christmas, though she realty did believe
that the people who never saw snow forgot that Christ was ever born! Yet
was he not born in a country very strongly resembling this very one
which ignored him?

John smiled, and offered no opposition; only bidding her remember not to
make her commissions to the city very expensive ones, and suggesting,
that, since she meant to be gay, she had better send some invitations to
certain of their friends.

"By the way John, do you know where Charles Erskine is?" Miss Edwards
asked, with much forced composure.

"The last I heard of him he was in San Francisco, lying dangerously
ill," answered John coldly.

"Oh, John!"

"Mary, you must hope nothing from that man. Don't waste your sympathies
on him, either; he'll never repay you the outgo."

"Tell me just one thing, John: Was Charles ever false to me? Tell me the
truth."

"I think he kept good faith with you. It is not that I complain of in
his conduct. The quarrel is strictly between us. He can never come here,
with my consent."

"But I can go to him," said Miss Edwards, very quietly.

And she did go--with Sandy-haired Jim for an escort, and her brother's
frowning face haunted her.

"If all is right," she said to him, at the very last, "I will be back to
keep Christmas with you. Think as well as you can of me, John,
and--good-by."

It will be seen, that, whatever Miss Edwards' little, womanly plan of
reconciliation had been, it was, as to details, all changed by the
information John had given her. What next she would do depended on
circumstances. It was, perhaps, a question of life and death. The long,
wearying, dusty stage-ride to San Francisco, passed like a disagreeable
dream; neither incident of heat by day, nor cold by night, or influence
of grand or lovely scenes, seemed to touch her consciousness. James
Harris, in his best clothes and best manners--the latter having a
certain gentle dignity about them that was born of the occasion--sat
beside her, and ministered assiduously to those personal wants which she
had forgotten in the absorption of her painful thoughts.